


let me feel you inside out

by preromantics



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Except Mike's text isn't about not being able to drive her over or a text with too many creative combinations of curse words attributed to AP homework or anything he usually texts. Instead it just says: Wear a dress or a skirt tonight for science.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me feel you inside out

Mike texts her while she's getting ready, already rushing after a longer than usual shower. He has his own special ring tone, and she almost doesn't bother leaving her closet to check but ends up going over anyway, just in case he can't pick her up for their New Directions dinner night at Breadstix. Kurt used to drive her along with some other people, but last time she asked him for a last minute ride she'd been awkwardly locked in the backseat while Kurt and Blaine made out leaning over the front console, completely forgetting she was in the car until she managed to tell herself it was creepy to keep watching and reminded them. (Also, she had been genuinely hungry, otherwise she might have let it go on for a few more seconds just to have more details to share with the girls before glee club practice while Santana high-fived her and Rachel took turns looking nauseated and jealous.)

Except Mike's text isn't about not being able to drive her over or a text with too many creative combinations of curse words attributed to AP homework or anything he usually texts. Instead it just says:  _Wear a dress or a skirt tonight for science._

_curfew is 10pm on thursdays, you know that_ , she texts back, rolling her eyes a little but probably more fondly than she'd like to admit. They haven't had a ton of time together alone lately, with all the work Mike's been doing for school and for the play and everything she's been focusing on, and it's not like she doesn't want to, or that he's even suggesting that. Her phone buzzes in her hand almost immediately. 

_I know. :)_  his text says. Tina shakes her head and puts her phone down. She was going to wear a new pair of jeans with a little bit of a relaxed fit -- it wasn't her fault the breadsticks were so addicting and delicious, and she needed comfortable clothes to maneuver in if she was going to fight off Santana when the basket was almost empty -- but in the end she finds a comfortable enough soft pleated skirt and adds a pair of knee socks with her shoes just because she knows Mike not-so-secretly has a thing for knee socks. 

She's ready just in time for Mike to pull up, car loud in the driveway with music she knows he was probably dancing in the car to, something he does far too frequently to be safe even if she finds it endearing. 

"You smell nice," Mike says in place of a greeting when she slips into the passenger seat, leaning over and ducking down to kiss the top of her head, definitely inhaling. 

"You're a human, not an animal," Tina says, pushing him away and pulling her skirt down as she moves to buckle up. "Don't turn that into something dirty, either, Mike Chang," she adds, catching the way he opens his mouth with a grin already working itself wide onto his face.

"You're no  _fun_ ," he says, but when she looks over he's just grinning at her as he backs out of her driveway, and for a moment she just feels warm and pleasant before she figures she should probably tell him to pay more attention to the road. 

"I wore a skirt," she points out, hoping to get him to explain his out of place text. "Even though I had a pair of jeans I was totally going to rock."

"Awesome, thank you," he says, nothing short of genuinely enthusiastic. 

Enthusiastic about what, Tina isn't sure she wants to know, but she goes with it and doesn't think too much about it beyond a weird look Mike gets on his face when Mercedes compliments her skirt until they're halfway through dinner with everyone seated around one of the long party-style tables at the restaurant.

Mike likes touch and contact, though not in a particularly showy or obnoxious way, and Tina enjoys that. She likes holding his hand and walking with his hand on her lower back and sitting next to him so he can rest his hand on her knee. And up until the middle of their group dinner his hand had been comfortably resting on her bare knee, fingers playing lightly along the top knit of her knee socks as everyone ate. Except suddenly his hand is inching higher, playing up along her knee and then up to her thigh and higher and --

"Mike," she says, a warning, but he doesn't pull his hand away, just settles it down and squeezes. 

He hums a quieting noise in her ear even as she goes to duck her head away and someone across from them makes exaggerated gagging noises. Whatever, they're an awesome couple and as a whole everyone at the table had already voted Rachel and Finn the most awful to watch PDA it up all over the place earlier in the year. Except whispering in Tina's ear is not the same as what Mike is actually trying to do. 

She side-eyes him in what she hopes is an effective glare. (She's gotten good at scaring people with her eyes after all the practice with Figgins. It's something she's pretty proud of now.)

He makes a face at her and leans back in to breathe against her ear. "C'mon," he says, quiet and low, "I miss you."

She glances around the table -- it's not as if the idea he's suggesting doesn't appeal to her, like she hadn't gotten off just as much as he did all the times they'd managed to find somewhere away from parents and friends like the park, where anyone could have seen but at least they wouldn't have gotten in as much trouble -- but getting caught would be humiliating, especially considering it's not even halfway through the year and they'd have to deal with most of their friends at least until graduation. 

Mike's hand squeezes up her thigh as she thinks, his fingers curling around to press at the inside, trying to spread her legs apart. She's not entirely proud when she gives in and sits back further in her chair so she can pull it closer to the table, her legs spreading just a little. 

It's not like he'd actually get her worked up to the point she'd orgasm or anything, she figures. She can handle a little public foreplay followed by dragging him out to his car and making him park in the darkest bit of parking lot they can find before they both have to be home. Sometimes Mike has good ideas, and this time she's on board. Tentatively, at least.

"Yeah?" Mike asks, multi-tasking and passing the salt across the table to Blaine as his hand inches higher up her leg, her skirt folding awkwardly up over his wrist as he moves. 

"We'll see," Tina says, watching Mike twirl his pasta around his fork completely nonchalantly and spreading her legs apart just a little more, just enough that she can feel the first pass of his thumb over her folds through her underwear. The first few motions of his fingers make her feel more sensitive than usual, her body tense and toes curled in her socks as she looks around the table and tries to look attentive as she picks at her salad. It's a good kind of weird feeling and as he works up a rhythm of dragging pressure, nowhere near enough to really get her too worked up, she definitely feels like she can do this because no one looks like they can tell and Mike is starting to grip his fork with a little too much pressure which means this is a kind of game and Tina is totally winning. 

Until he bends his wrist to get more room and slips one finger underneath the side of her underwear, sliding up low against her skin where she's just starting to get wet and dragging with intent to her clit, too much to soon, and she bites down too hard around the bite in her mouth and clicks her teeth against the metal of her fork. 

"You okay?" Mike asks, setting down his fork to pat her back with his free hand, an awkward angle that could totally draw attention to the absence of his other hand, especially with people like Santana and Puck in the room. 

She manages to glare at him through watery eyes, shaking her head. Mike's fingers still where they're resting half over her through her underwear and half underneath and after a second she rolls her hips forward to get him to do something at least, move his hand away or just  _move_  and he makes a pleased sort of humming noise around his next bite of food, glancing at her. 

His next few motions are definitely with more intent; Tina had been pleasantly surprised when they started exploring the sexual side of their relationship -- though they both came in with the same amount of experience, Mike was a fast learner. Right now she almost wishes he wasn't as good with his hands as she knows he is, wishes he didn't know what side of her clit was more sensitive and how much she loved the focus there in the beginning even if it made her oversensitive. 

Instead of stopping him when she realizes this probably wasn't a good idea she shifts so he doesn't have to bend his arm as awkwardly when his fingers slip down, sliding easily over her because she's so wet, so fast, barely able to gaze around the table to make sure no one is paying close attention because her focus is off and blurry.  _Anyone_  could see, probably figure them out if they looked for more than a few seconds. 

She takes a hurried and too-large bite of salad when Mike twists his hand to slip a finger inside her, pressing up and not even really moving enough to fuck her with it, just moving inside her, twisting in little motions before he pulls his hand back and presses back in with more of a rhythm. 

She has no idea how much time has passed, probably too long, she should probably grab Mike and let him give their vague excuses and drag him back to the car and press him down into the backseat and ride him until she feels less tense and less like she's aching inside-out because, shit, she shouldn't find it hot that Mike is fingering her under the table while all their friends are surrounding them, talking and eating and enjoying themselves. 

"Mike," she hisses, mostly around her next bite of food, swallowing around a noise that threatens to escape her throat when his finger crooks up and she tightens around it as his thumb presses up above to roll against her clit, the slide slick and easy. "Car."

"Nope," Mike says, sounding normal and not really keeping his voice down, like they're having a normal conversation and people are going to look over and try and talk to them and Tina feels just flushed and hot enough that she's sure someone will notice at any second, that in front of her Rachel and Kurt will stop arguing about something Tina doesn't have the brain capacity to care about right now and ask her if she's feeling well and then everyone will  _know_. 

She wants to whine or shift away or shift  _closer_  in her chair when Mike adds a second finger, wants to breathe out  _finally_  because she didn't even realize she was waiting for it, that just one finger wasn't enough -- was never enough. His fingers are long and so much thicker than her own that two means she can always feel the stretch, especially when he plays around her clit at the same time and she tightens around them. He stills his fingers inside her for a few seconds like before, just rolling and twisting them inside, pressing up against her, too much and not enough, his thumb stilling it's motion and just pressing, too, dragging over the top of her clit and catching just enough that he can get to where she's most sensitive. 

Tina tries not to squirm, she really does, but the stillness is making her fuzzy, making all the noise of the entire restaurant around them turn into static and buzz in her ears, so she moves forward against Mike's fingers, chancing a glance at him, eyes narrowed but probably too glossed-over to be anything but pleading.

The corner of his mouth is turned up and he's staring at her, eyes glancing down slowly, focusing on her neck and her chest where she knows she must be noticeably flushed by now before he's looking down toward her lap. His hand is mostly covered by the folded pleats of her skirt and the long edge of the table cloth, but she looks down too it looks obscene and so obvious that she has to look back up and focus on her food. 

Mike looks away, playing disinterest so easily Tina is jealous, though as soon as she gets him alone she's knows she's going to have her payback, somehow. For a few more seconds or minutes or some amount of time Tina can't pay attention to, too busy trying to even out her breathing and look normal, even if she's clearly not paying attention to any of the conversations happening around her, Mike keeps his fingers and his hand still, just pressing with alternating pressure, not enough even as she rocks forward onto his fingers with as little movement as she can manage. 

It's not until he starts in on a conversation -- voice lower than normal at least, Tina notices -- with Blaine and Finn across the table about football that he actually starts to move his fingers. He presses up inside of her with hard flicks of his wrist in the space he can, keeping the tips of his fingers curled up enough that she feels every drag each time she squeezes around him, each time he rolls his thumb over her clit and talks about scores and teams and things Tina tries to pay attention to just to keep from losing her composure.

It feels so good, though, his fingers fucking into her with no time for her to adjust to each thrust, fast enough with the short motion of his wrist that she feels like she's not going to be able to stop him much sooner than usual, her thighs tensing and her feet pressing down hard on the floor so she can lift up enough to do something, not trying to get away but trying to make it feel like  _less_. When she starts to pull back just slightly Mike laughs at something Finn says and then suddenly pulls both of his fingers out, his hand entirely away, and her entire body shudders forward closer to the table. 

Mike keeps his fingers away for just long enough that Tina starts to slide forward in her chair, enough that she can suddenly feel the wet drag of his fingers over the top part of her inner thigh, making her want to groan. She wants to say something, to be able to get up and have them leave, even if he just presses her up against the wall along the dark side of the restaurant and lets her hook her leg up against his hip as he kisses her and she fucks down against his fingers -- anything that would stop her from coming at dinner with people she has to see on a near-daily basis. Except she doesn't trust herself to say anything out loud and she doesn't actually want to stop, she's too close, can feel it in how her thighs are shaking from being tense and in how she's aching, low and deep, the sensation of even his fingers dragging slickly and without intent over her skin amplified. 

"Anyway," Mike says, too-loud next to her and in response to something in his conversation and then all of the sudden his fingers are pushing back in, his arm moving to a more obvious and awkward angle that allows him to move faster, press up, his thumb gone from her clit and leaving her throbbing just a little as he fucks her with his fingers. 

It's too much to go from having no touch at all after being so worked up to having the wide stretch of his fingers, three now, enough that Tina has to spread her legs indecently wide to accommodate the twist and the pressure, so good, good enough that if she relaxed just a little and stopped digging her toes into her shoes or stopped gripping the edge of the table hard enough that someone is definitely going to notice, she'd come. 

"Relax," Mike says, voice low and suddenly in her ear. He must be done with his conversation, people must be watching them, and Mike  _knows_  her, knows how she tenses when she doesn't want to come, knows just how to work her apart because he learns fast and he actually cares to learn where she's most sensitive and what she likes, and right now she's overwhelmed enough that just his voice does her in.

"Come on," Mike says, right against her ear, kissing high on her neck in a way that she can't imagine looks playful, not with how she must look to everyone else, and she comes around his fingers when he laughs a little against her skin with the tiniest drag of his teeth before he draws away. 

Tina squeezes her thighs together around his hand and wrist, stilling his motions and moving one hand down to her lap to keep him there as she shakes, not daring to look around the table or even to look at Mike, breathing out through her nose. She digs her fingernails into the skin over Mike's knuckles until her orgasm starts to fade enough that she can relax back against the chair, little aftershocks prickling over her skin and making her squeeze tight around Mike's fingers as she finally lets go and he pulls them out slowly. 

Mike is grinning next to her when she chances a glance over, her breathing evening out even as she still feels light everywhere, not able to pay much attention to anything going on at all and not even caring. 

"You have dressing on your mouth," Mike says when he catches her gaze, voice affected but in a way Tina knows no one else would be able to catch, "here."

Tina swallows when Mike reaches his hand out, one of his fingers rubbing just at the side of her lip, just a little sticky -- sticky from her, not from dressing or anything else, from his fingers inside of her, from making her come -- and she watches when he pulls his hand back and pops his fingers into his mouth, sliding them slowly between his lips and then letting them out with a pop. 

"We need to go," Tina says, unsurprised when her voice comes out gritty and low. Mike nods, looking both overly proud and a little wasted. 

Tina is pretty sure they manage a goodbye that is maybe not that incriminating, at least not as bad as some of the excuses from other couples who frequent their near-weekly club dinners have been in the past, and she and Mike both laugh in an awkward way when Mercedes compliments Tina's skirt again when they exit. 

"I am seriously glad you didn't wear jeans," Mike says when Tina gets them both outside, tugging him along behind her, her legs a little weak in a way that makes her want to just press up against him along the bench outside, her stupid boyfriend with his talented hands and cryptic fashion texts and bad ideas.

"You're going to pay for that." Tina says, looking up so she can glare at him, but it's ruined with a smile she can't help. "I'm glad, too. Not that this is ever happening again," she adds, quieter. 

Mike makes a non-committal noise with a shrug and laughs when she pulls him by the wrist out into the parking lot. It's not even 9:30 and they have plenty of time to make it back before curfew and figure out some other, less public ways in which her skirt is convenient.

**Author's Note:**

> Original LJ post date: 10/12/11.


End file.
